


What Friends Are For

by BlackAquoKat



Series: Ours to Choose [2]
Category: Video Blogging RPF, Who Killed Markiplier, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Damien - Freeform, Gen, Inspired by a Tumblr Prompt, Other, POC!OC, WKM, Who Killed Markiplier - Freeform, Y/N District Attorney - Freeform, more slowburn, nonbinary OC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2018-04-27
Packaged: 2019-04-17 16:46:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14193321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackAquoKat/pseuds/BlackAquoKat
Summary: In which an aspiring law student with antisocial tendencies learns how far they are willing to go to protect their new friend.





	What Friends Are For

**Author's Note:**

> This was first posted as an answer to a few dialogue prompts on my tumblr and I decided it fits well into this world I'm building for my DA, like many others I'll be posting. Hope you guys like it!

In the months since you’ve become friends with Damien, you’ve learned many things about him.

One: he cannot hold his alcohol to save his life. It merely takes a drink and a half to make him lose all sense of reservation and start confessing his adoration for every single person who crosses his path.

Another: he  _cannot_  say no when his other friends invite him to parties.

Even when those parties are held on the eve of exams.

Even when these parties include a  _ridiculous_  excess of the alcohol he has little to no tolerance for.

During your friendship, you have also learned several new things about  _yourself_.

Such as the fact that you apparently cannot, in good conscience, leave Damien alone at these parties, because he’s trusting and kind and damn it, he wants to believe the best in people and the students at this University just are  _not_ worthy of that trust.

Which means you therefore have to suffer dealing with far more rich white assholes than you’ve ever wanted to in one place whilst they all get drunk out of their minds.

_Great._

Not to mention you’re on  _their_ territory, a mansion belonging to one of the aforementioned rich white assholes. Aside from the fact that the sheer size of the home could have paid for your education for the next century is offensive enough, the idiots have not stopped making comments about your race and what they  _assume_ your relationship is with Damien (the theories range from courting, which no one really believes but discusses anyway, all the way to you trying to squeeze him for cash, and honestly both suggestions piss you off).

You don’t bother with courtesy, outright ignoring them as you stay near your far too benevolent friend as he’s goaded into taking on a beer keg.

_Damn it, Damien…_

So you watch, silent and concerned, as he’s held upside down for what feels like an eternity while the partygoers chant encouragement, before he’s placed back onto his feet, only to spill onto the floor in a heap. You’re the only one who tries to help him up while the others giggle and cheer hysterically, dead to the world.

“Goddamn it, Damien…” you mutter as you lift him to his feet. “This is, by far, the  _dumbest_  thing you’ve done since we met—”

“Aside from pretending to marry you?” someone snickers from behind you.

In a rather proud display of self-control, you do _not_ punch the offender in the face in favor of making sure Damien doesn’t crash to the ground again. He apparently didn’t hear the snide comment.

“Oh, come on, my friend!” Damien bellows, gripping an arm around your shoulders. “I have had little opportunity to do dumb activities! Let us revel while we’re still young!”

“You can ‘revel’ without succumbing to alcohol poisoning,” you grumble. “And I’m starting to think your definition of  _fun_ is very different from mine.”

Damien stares at you, and the sad realization in his eyes catches you off-guard. “I’ve disappointed you.”

The statement feels like a slap, especially the way his voice dropped in distress, and you’re quick to respond, “No, Damien, you could never disappoint me, but you  _know_  you can’t keep doing this, not when we have exams starting tomorrow and—”

“Oh, come on, forget the bitch, Goodwin!” a guy named Jude Reid slurs loudly, pulling Damien out of your hold. He has dark brown hair and the face of a bleached rat. “Like you said, we’re young! We’ve earned this—”

“No, I think my friend is right,” Damien interrupts. To your surprise, he’s looking at Jude with narrowed, steely eyes. “Perhaps I’ve done enough for the night—”

“Wow, hold on there, Goodwin, you’re just gonna let this bird tell you what to do?” another guy strolls up, a Jonas…something, you don’t really care. His mocking laughter grates across your skin, and he looks about as rat-like as Jude. “Why don’t you have another drink, get out from under the whip?”

Damien extracts himself from Jude’s grip and steps closer to you. When he stumbles you grab his arm. “Actually…I’m not feeling very well, I think,” his face pales a shade, “I think I’m going to be sick—”

You silently hurry him to the nearest restroom as he proceeds to vomit everything he’s eaten today. You grab a rag, run it under the cold water of the sink, and pat it against his forehead and neck when he’s done.

“Ready to go home now?” you ask him quietly.

_“Please,”_ he coughs.

As you lead him out the door, cold rag in hand (the owners can live with one less monogramed washcloth, you reason) Jude and Jonas follow the two of you all the way to the entrance, mocking Damien for bailing so soon and making kissy-noises at you, and it takes all of your self-control not to deck them into next week. 

You probably would have gotten Damien out without inflicting violence had Jude not muttered a racial slur directed at you.

The problem?

You’re not the one who punches him.

But you  _are_  the one who knocks out him  _and_ his brother when they try to attack Damien, who is clutching his bruised fist and hissing through clenched teeth.

You finally pull Damien out of that place, with the Rat Brothers moaning on the ground and the rest of the attending students staring at you as you get Damien to your car.

 

* * *

 

“My fist hurts…” he groans.

“You probably didn’t punch correctly,” you suggest.

“Ugh…why do I do this to myself…?” Damien sighs as he shuffles inside your car. He’s holding the washcloth against his forehead.

“Newfound freedom is hard to resist,” you say in a sage voice. 

“You seem to do just fine.”

You don’t answer until you hop into the driver’s seat. “I think my parents were far more lenient than yours.”

“Ugh…” he whines again. “I feel like a frog is trying to jump out of my throat…at least my roommate is probably still back there…”

“I’m taking you to my place.”

Damien turns glazed eyes to you. “Wh…why?”

“I don’t want you to choke on your own vomit.”

He doesn’t broach the subject again until you get to your house and help him onto the couch. It’ll be easier to monitor him here than in a bed. You get him a glass of water and a banana.

“A banana?” Damien stares at the fruit like it might bite him.

“Good source of potassium. Have the water first, you’re probably dehydrated.”

While he obeys your commands, you go to grab blankets out of the closet and come back to a vacated couch, an empty glass, and a half-eaten banana.

“Damien?”

An affirmative sound echoes from the bathroom.

You drop the blankets on the couch and go to the bathroom to see Damien resting his head against the toilet bowl.

“I’m never drinking again…” he laments.

“Don’t make a promise you won’t keep,” you say. The washcloth is still in his hand, so you take it and re-soak it under the tap. “We  _are_  in college after all.”

“Why didn’t  _you_ drink anything tonight?”

You shrug and hand the cloth back to him. “I had one at the beginning, just to keep me from losing my mind too soon. Someone needed to make sure you got home okay. I didn’t trust anyone else there to do it.”

“I…” Damien slides away from the toilet rim and leans against the bathtub, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t…I don’t think I was a very good friend tonight.”

“Stop that,” you order gently. You lower yourself to the floor with him and sit cross-legged. “Just because you were stupid tonight doesn’t mean you’re a bad friend. It's probably too soon to say something like this, but..." You run a hand through your short curls. "You’re the greatest friend I’ve ever had. One night of drunken idiocy isn’t going to change that. Besides…” You tap him on the nose with a smirk and bask in his smile, “as soon as exams over, I plan on joining you in proper ‘revelry,’ as you put it earlier.”

Damien laughs, a gentle, heartwarming sound. “That actually sounds…nice. But I honestly do not want to even  _look_ at a drink—”

“Oh, we won’t be drinking,” you clarify. “Not this time. I’ll be taking you to my favorite place to unwind.”

His interest in your plan seems to take his mind of how miserable he appears, sweat pouring from his temples and skin far paler than it’s ever been. “Where?”

“That,” you put a finger to your lips, “is for me to know, and you to find out after exams. In the meantime…” you reach out and take his hand, “I’m going to take care of you tonight. Okay?”

Damien grips your hand in return. “You shouldn’t have to, but…thank you.”

You shrug. “What are friends for, Damien?”

“Maybe studying together for that Poli-Sci final tomorrow?”

“Are you even sober enough to remember anything we’d look over?”

“…I highly doubt it.”

“Then that can wait until tomorrow,” you decide. “Now go drink more water, finish your banana, and go to sleep, Chucklehead.”

**Author's Note:**

> Spot the Doctor Who reference; it’s years after this story takes place but who cares?


End file.
